press play.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
That one person who can get into your head, every movement, every place, everything, every thought, reminds you of them.
let it go, it's never worth it.

Submitted: February 03, 2010

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Submitted: February 03, 2010

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the pulsing in her head, it beats louder and louder everytime that phone rings.
his voice takes control when she'd answer it,
louder andlouder
the ringing never stops,
silence.
the flashing of the answering machine calls her,
play.
it's playing on repeat, but not the machine, his words.
he's been overplayed.
delete.
the sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floors, and none that followed
the feeling of the bed, with no one beside her
waking up to nothing but the other side of the bed, neatly made, since the night he left.
love?
how do you fall into it? and out of it for that matter?
it's not seen nor heard, it's a feeling, so vunerable to failure
and rarely given from a lucky hand.
so what makes a love so strong, just die in a heartbeat.
she grows stronger, no longer needing to have him there,
proud at the woman she's become without him
home from work, carefree and happy
that dreaded blink of the answering machine
her mind tell her no, her hearts telling her yes.play.
just another baby baby, that pulse is back, worse than the last,
but she's weak for his word.
pick up the keys, this isn't supposed to happen
lock the door, what's going on
get in the car, what am i doing
start the engine, i can't do this
drive recklessly to a destination unknown,
telling her feet to brake and her hands to turn the other way
uncontrolably telling her to keep going
the streets empty, the lights flashing red
turn around.
park, why am i here.
the streets were unwelcoming and the apartments unpleasant
her love was priceless, and now you pay a standard rate?
worth it? no.
her feet are walking and control is gone,
she gets to the door
pacing back and forth
the hits felt heavy, but the sounds came dim.
the door dragged open, and there she stood
the gut wrenching feelings began,
could i walk away? too late.
what hurt more, hearing what could possibly be his voice call her baby like that message
or seeing him at the door hold her, like the years he held me,
telling me i was his everything.
this was a mistake,
but this wasn't her answering machine
she couldn't press delete, his message was clear,
and she couldn't stop it.
his skin cold as her hand felt his face,
agression is the only emotion left.
in the car, hands shaking where to drive
love, this crazy thing takes control
manipulates the vulnerable, and throws them into the this unescapable pit
only the strong survive.
but in this game, cheaters win.
she never let him back in.
delete.
  

 

 

 

 

 


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